


unspoken flattery from an anchor

by chuchisushi



Series: the bastion collective [7]
Category: Bastion
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Evacuation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 07:34:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chuchisushi/pseuds/chuchisushi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well, the Kid is practical, if nothing else. Zulf is starting to think this is becoming a thing. (Like he was surprised.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	unspoken flattery from an anchor

“Really,” the Kid says, looking skeptically down at the jar in his hands. “You sure that’s what it’s for?”

He and Zulf sit in the framework of the living space that the Bastion has claimed as the Kid’s; there’s half-built bits of wall, constructed off of the Armory, with a door that leads inside that had sprouted one morning like a flower opening to sunlight. At the moment, the place is mostly piles of cloth, its walls and ceiling canopy and half-tent all in one in a riot of fabric, weapons, and nicknacks that the Kid had managed to collect along the way. (It matches his personality, Zulf thinks: messy, functional until it’s not, chaotic, but with an underlying core, reassuring in its own way.)

(It’s comforting to Zulf, and he tries to not examine that feeling too closely, determined to not wear it out so quickly.)

“Fairly sure, yes.” More than fairly, but he’ll not admit to more; he can feel his cheeks burning again at the memory, the amused, conspiratory look the female merchant had thrown him, her tone in a language he’d been just beginning to grasp, the root of ‘love’ in there somewhere.

The Kid swirls the contents of the jar, shrugs, and plops it back down on the edge of the bedroll, standing up to pull off his shirt, armor having already been discarded; Zulf bites back a yelp and an abortive lunge towards the Kid to pull up his clothes, darting a look in the direction of the rest of the Bastion.

“What are you _doing_?” he hisses.

The Kid looks up from stepping out of his pants, already stripped down to his boxers. “What? M’trying it out.”

“Now?? It’s the middle of the day--”

“Good time for napping; too hot to do anymore work. Bath I tried didn’t seem t’help cool down much either.” And that’s apparently that; he skins off his boxers casually and tosses them aside, plopping back down on his bedroll. Zulf resists the urge to cover his face and closed eyes in exasperation.

“I honestly cannot believe--”

He’s interrupted by a groan and squelch; Zulf flushes a deep red color, debates with himself for a moment, and cracks open one eye.

The Kid’s wrapped his hand around his dick, fingers shiny with the ointment; as Zulf watches, he uses his free hand to wipe up some of the overspill, leaning back and exposing his hole, circling around it before pushing one finger into himself with another soft noise.

Zulf finds his mouth hanging open, snapping it closed when the Kid glances up, half a grin on his face and a challenge in his eyes.

“You insufferable--” But Zulf stands, starts shedding layers in falls of color and cloth, letting them lay where they land, and drops to his knees, crowds the Kid for a kiss, taking his cock into his own hand and stroking, squeezing hard in the way the Kid likes, pushes his knees further apart with his hand.

“Insufferable--foolish--exasperating--” he mutters into the contact of their mouths, and the Kid chuckles weakly into him and twitches at the twist of Zulf’s hand at his head, the slide of him hot and soft against his inner thigh.

“C’mon then,” he says, and slides his hand up, down, Zulf’s hip, weapon-calluses catching on scars, strokes his cock and slicking it up with what’s left on his fingers; Zulf lets him guide him and pushes in slow and steady and unyielding, kissing along the Kid’s jaw and into the hollow where it meets his neck, feeling lifeblood hammer underneath his lips and listening for any hitch in his breath. The first thrust is slick-smooth in and out of velvet heat, and makes the Kid groan, heavy and uninhibited. His lips are parted, a flush coloring his tan skin, and Zulf’s next thrust is faster, more forceful, accompanied by a bite at the juncture of shoulder and neck; he loves this, this act especially, sinking into the solidity and heat of the Kid like drowning in Colford Cauldron. The Kid might be smaller, shorter than him, only come up to his shoulder, but what’s there of him is like an _anchor_ , and Zulf’s never felt so secure since leaving the Terminals and losing the massive weight of the earth over his head as he does buried balls-deep in the Kid--who scrapes blunt nails along the skin at the back of his neck, nips at the lobe of his ear, moans and grunts as Zulf thrusts, mumbling semicoherent encouragement that’s punctuated by shivers and bitten-off curses when Zulf hits the tender spot inside him that whites out his vision in spangles and flares of pleasure. Encouraged, Zulf thrusts harder, chasing his own pleasure as the Kid’s vocalizations deteriorate into monosyllables, whines, and a surprised shout as Zulf slams in hard at one point, grinding his hips in a tight circle against his ass, hitting the Kid in just the right place that all it takes is Zulf linking their fingers together on his cock and a few strokes to the tune of ragged breathing for the Kid to come silently, shaking and shuddering underneath Zulf and sprawling out after all arms and white ruffled hair against the blankets, twitching at every thrust Zulf makes through aftershocks into sensitivity; he follows him over squeezing the Kid’s hips hard enough to bruise and pulls out as soon as he’s coherent, clambering up the Kid to lay biting kisses across his mouth.

Kid makes a sound of effort and slings an arm over Zulf’s neck, twists and pulls them over so he lands on his back, pinned below the Kid; he tucks kisses into the furrow of Zulf’s eyebrows and tangles his legs with his, pillows his white head on his shoulder, and drops off into sleep with a soldier's efficiency.

Zulf lies awake for heartbeats longer, staring at the top of the Kid’s head and contemplating words unspoken, before planting a kiss in the dandelion puff of locks and dragging the blanket over them both.


End file.
